


Thunder and Mist

by niaocha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Immortal Leon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niaocha/pseuds/niaocha
Summary: Merlin and Leon keep living, and so does the world.(My take on the Arthur-comes-back fic.)
Kudos: 60





	Thunder and Mist

The sky thundered, and the wood joists of the tavern trembled, shaking like the earth right before it ruptured in an earthquake. The newest knights looked around the table at their little party, desperate to show bravery, or at least an absence of fear- they were recent appointments, in the name of Queen Guinivere, and they could not fall to cowardice over a light storm, despite the atmosphere. Furtive glances around, through the windows and the glare from the dim candlelight showed misty, rolling forests, and darkness only occasionally illuminated by flashes of light.

At the other end of the tavern, Merlin looked out the window and sighed, adjusting his overcoat, and one of the new knights approached him with trepidation, jumping every time a new roll of thunder sounded over the small structure. Merlin looked up, and studied him.

“This thunder-”

“Isn’t exactly new.”

Merlin stood abruptly, and the knight pressed back, huddling against the thick wooden joist supporting the building. Sighing again, and glancing out the window, Merlin stared through to the darkened forests outside.

“The invaders from the north are more of a threat than the weather of Albion.”

The young knight jumped again, this time from a crackle of lightning, and pressed his back further against the swaying wall, candlelight flickering off of his face.

“But surely you won’t be safe travelling in this weather…”

Merlin fixed the young knight with a pointed stare, and Leon spoke from the bench where he had been sitting aside Merlin, shifting his arms up onto the table.

“Merlin and I will be fine. We’ve lived fifty years after the King’s death, into the Queen’s old age - god forbid we’ll live another five hundred before we pass.”

The young knight nodded, abashed, and Merlin moved to the door, Leon following him, whilst the tavern shook, the earth rolling from the weight of the storm. As the door cracked open, the darkened mist seemed to roll into the warmth of the candlelight, and the knights gathered at the end of the room shivered.

A voice spoke up from the younger recruits. “Merlin, Leon, will you be coming back? To Camelot?”

Merlin looked back, and sighed. “Perhaps not in this lifetime, but yes.”

The thunder rolled once more, and the pair vanished into the mists beyond the outpost tavern and the borders of Albion.

-

This tavern was far livelier, although not much larger - people packed together under a dim ceiling, while a bard, perched precariously on one end of the tavern, sung a bawdy tune, a rolling din that swept the tavern and seemed to reverberate out onto the street. In one corner, though, was a sense of relative quiet, and that was where a man with curly red hair strode in, plain, peasant’s clothes, but armed, the sword catching a shine off of the dim candlelights hung from the rafters. The man slid into the table, across from the existing occupant, dark haired and looking out of the window at the town below, bustling throughout the night despite the darkness.

“Merlin, what have you been up to, old friend?”

The darker haired man looked up, startled. “Healing, writing where I can. The usual,” He paused. “You?”

Leon sighed. “Making a living where I must, drinking when I can.”

Merlin laughed. “A bit like Gwaine, don’t you think?”

“All heroes must fall, I suppose…”

“Rather more like, all sane people must fall to alcohol.”

Leon laughed at that, and Merlin let out a solid chuckle. The din of the small tavern resumed, rolling over the conversation and smoothing out it’s lumps.

“Say, did you hear that someone wrote Arthur and Gwen’s story?”

‘“What?” Leon said.

“Yeah, some guy by the name Geoffrey, coincidentally. The whole thing’s wildly inaccurate.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. They say that all you did was slay a giant hog.”

“I shall have a word with him! It was a wilddeoren!” Leon said, slightly bemused.

Merlin grinned. “Yeah, well… lost to time, I guess.”

The thunder rolled outside again, and something could be heard on the roof, a faint noise - only audible, perhaps, the the quieter corner where Leon and Merlin had a table, but a landing noise all the less, the tremor causing the faint candle placed on the rafter above the pair to sway, which Merlin caught with a whisper and a flash of gold eyes.

“Always useful, that magic of yours.” Leon paused. “Was that your dragon that just landed on the roof?”

Merlin glared, offended. “Her name is  _ Aithusa _ .”

“Off on your adventures, then?”

“Yeah. I was thinking Al Andalus? Or perhaps China…”

Leon smiled, and held out his hand, which Merlin stood and shook.

“Meet again in another century?”

Merlin smiled back, as the bard finished the last note of his song, which had no doubt turned unspeakably, drunkenly, obscene. “Until Arthur rises.”

“Aye, I’ll drink to that.”

-

Two hundred years would find Merlin in China, tending victims of the plague, while Leon ventured in England, trying to uphold any semblance of order amongst chaos. Another two hundred would find them reunited in the Renaissance, Merlin once again a physician, and Leon an advisor - then, occasional brushes in taverns, the even rarer meetup, and the occasional battlefield. Another two hundred would find the Merlin learning more magic in the New World, while Leon fought against the Spanish for Britain.

Yet another two hundred would find the pair reunited on yet another battlefield, this one far more explosive, while they hunched over in trenches and artillery fired above. 

Leon ducked down and looked at Merlin. “Always thundery when you’re around, no?”

Merlin laughed, despite the dirt on his face and the grime of the trench. “We’ll, we’ve got to keep living somehow.”

“Living’s all we’re really good at, mate.”

-

Another hundred or so years would bring a near revolution, and there were no longer any taverns to speak of, so Merlin and Leon met at the nearest pub they could find; both were back in London after the Wars. Yet again the rain railed against the sides of the building, though, and the room shook, the dim lights now from a string of fairy lights; different, but still fundamentally the same. Merlin was second to arrive this time, while Leon had already taken up a seat, squinting in disdain at the pub’s cracked television, and whatever it’s contents were. Merlin pulled his neckerchief - he never really stopped wearing them - back away from his nose, as he strolled into the warmer air of the tavern, and Leon greeted him.

“Very much Albion’s weather today,” Leon commented.

“Aren’t they calling it Great Britain now?”

Leon laughed. “If Arthur heard that, he’d have a  _ fit _ .”

Merlin snorted, and then looked out of the window again, peeking through the mist. “Tavern’s like Camelot, though. Good day for reminiscing.”

“I forgot, it’s been a while since you’ve been back to London - you’ve been in Oxford, yeah?”

“Mmhm. Teaching.” Merlin laughed. “I feel like Gaius.”

“All you need is that old man spell of yours.”

“I’ll climb on your back again if you ever suggest it,” Merlin said.

Leon blanched and wisely pressed himself into the wood joist of the wall, just as the building shook from the storm.

“Glad there’s two of us, not just me,” Merlin said.

Leon nodded. “Mmhm. We’ll, let’s make it the two of us and some chips.”

“So, tell me about that advisor job you’ve gotten…” Merlin asked, laughing.

-

The thunder shook again as Leon stood from the table, shifting the old wood with a slight creak. Passing under the sim, cracked fluorescents of the pub, he moved towards the door, Merlin following - the rolling mists of outside pressing against the panes of glass, casting shadows onto the rain soaked windows. Leon turned at the door, back to face Merlin, who had his hands sucked neatly in his pockets.

“Meet again in another century?”

“Or until Arthur rises,” Merlin responded.

Leon grinned, heading back into the rolling mists of outside, and a strike of lightning illuminated his red hair once again. He walked into the shadow of the street, neon lights barely illuminating his path amongst the fog, and paused. 

“Merlin.”

“Yeah?” he asked, quietly walking up behind him.

Leon pointed at a faint hill in the distance.

“Is that…?”

“Camelot?”

“Yeah, I think that’s Camelot,” Merlin confirmed.

Looking at Leon, Merlin grinned, and Leon shrugged. Thunder rolled across the misty street and lightning crackled, yet again illuminating the pair for a brief second, before the darkness of the city night filled the space once more - although the hill seemed still alight, perhaps just with the shine of the castle.

“Well, it’s been nearly nine hundred years since we’ve been back.”

Merlin laughed. “I suppose we should pay Arthur a visit, no?”

  
  



End file.
